


the moment to its crisis

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has Heaven Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, First Time, M/M, Repressed Aziraphale (Good Omens), Thirsty Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Crowley is keeping everything under control, until he isn't.





	the moment to its crisis

Heaven hates frivolous miracles. This is ridiculous, because Her power is infinite, and a miracle is just cutting a little slice of it. It grows back immediately, self-replenishing, and there could not possibly be enough miracles at once to even dent its surface. So clearly, this is a rule of Heaven's bureaucracy, not Her dictate.

Crowley explained this to Aziraphale over crepes, but he has always suspected it didn't stick.

The piece of information Crowley was missing, at the time, is exactly what kind of miracle Heaven finds most egregious.

"What do you mean, what does it feel like?" Crowley asks, puzzled.

"That's the whole of the question," Aziraphale says. 

"How could you possibly not know?" Crowley says; they're not drunk and he regrets that. "You never thought to just-" He makes a hand gesture that is uncomfortably gynecological. 

"Of course I thought about it," Aziraphale says. "But you can't fathom how much trouble I would have gotten in for doing something so frivolous without explicit instructions."

Crowley says nothing for a moment. "That's a lot to unpack."

"I was allowed a penis fairly early on," Aziraphale says, which tracks; not that Crowley studies Aziraphale's crotch carefully, but men's fashion has shown and hidden the relevant shape variously over the millennia. "I was not instructed to change it, so I never have."

"Huh," Crowley says. "Well, ah, there's a lot to recommend it. Can't be beat for getting into tight trousers. Also doesn't collect sweat in the same way. Multiple orgasms are also a plus. But if you're curious, you can just make it happen."

Aziraphale's face set into a look of resolve. "I'm going to do it," he said.

"Good on you," Crowley says encouragingly. "You're your own angel now. Do what you want."

"You know, I think I will," Aziraphale says, with the smile that does things to Crowley, but the conversation turns and the matter doesn't come up again.

Crowley doesn't really think about Aziraphale's new genitalia; he switches his own all the time, whenever he gets bored of what he's wearing. He thinks about a lot of other things about Aziraphale, like the curve of his neck or the way his hair glows in the sunlight or how good he looks when he has his shirtsleeves rolled up, reaching up to dust his bookshelves, the lines of his body extending upwards and to one point like the way paintings used to do. But what's in his pants is just simple mechanics, and while Crowley would be happy to interact with it if Aziraphale only said the word, it's not, in and of itself, interesting.

Until.

They're having a drink at Crowley's place, because Aziraphale has deigned to watch a movie, a rare event. They've even agreed on what to watch, which is even rarer. Crowley has a weakness for movies that are silly and/or romantic comedies, because things are bad enough without adding onto it; Aziraphale likes serious things and/or epic dramas, for reasons that are opaque to Crowley.

They haven't even started the movie yet, Crowley just now sitting down with popcorn. Aziraphale is shifting around, looking uncomfortable; Crowley's couch is imposing but soft, so Crowley's not quite sure what's wrong. "Something the matter?" he asks.

"It's a bit embarrassing," Aziraphale says.

"Hasn't stopped you before," Crowley says.

"It's about, well," Aziraphale says. "What we discussed the other day."

"We discuss a lot of things," Crowley says, frowning.

"About, you know, my equipment," Aziraphale says.

"Your pussy?" Crowley says, and Aziraphale cringes. "Something wrong with it?"

"It's just," Aziraphale says. "Do you find that yours gets wet all the time?"

"Uh," Crowley says, taken aback. "Well, mostly just if I'm turned on, but sometimes you're just a little damp for no reason."

"It's such an odd sensation," Aziraphale says, shifting again. "It feels like a lot of moisture. I'm afraid that it will stain my trousers."

"Er," Crowley says, no idea how to deal with this conversation. "Do you want me to look? It's probably fine, but it might make you feel better."

"That sounds awkward," Aziraphale says. "But would you mind?"

"Go ahead," Crowley says. "Spread 'em."

Aziraphale huffs, but he does it, parting his knees so that Crowley can get a look. Look Crowley does, turning to examine the area between Aziraphale's legs. "Don't see anything," Crowley says. "You'll probably see it on your underwear, but your trousers are fine."

"You've put my mind at ease," Aziraphale says, looking relieved.

"Nothing to it," Crowley says, and he turns on the movie to cover up how absolutely befuddled he is.

Things become much more immediate for Crowley at that point. He'd been looking at Aziraphale's whole situation as a mechanical fact, a Slot A where a Tab B could go- or indeed, any number of other tab-shaped things. Crowley has not been thinking of it as a wet, vital thing, something ready for touch, for attention. The idea has somehow completely changed in his mind, in a way that knocks the breath out of him when he thinks about it.

If he could only see to it, it would be hot against him, spreading moisture onto his thigh, his hand, or- oh fuck- his cock. He could grind against Aziraphale until Aziraphale was gasping, then slip his fingers inside, feel him out, touch him how no one has ever touched him. It would be just for Crowley, something he'd never have to share, because surely Aziraphale knows by now that if the seal was broken, they'd never be able to part.

Crowley is okay with this. He doesn't know if Aziraphale is, so he hasn't forced the issue. In fact, he avoids the issue as much as demonically possible. It's better to stay right here; he won't have lost anything if he just doesn't make any sudden movements.

"Do I dare eat a peach?" Crowley says to the ceiling when he's alone, which is sacrilegious on a number of levels.

This attempt at neutrality does not last, but Crowley would position it as Aziraphale's fault. Crowley usually internalizes blame rather than shifting it to other people, but he'll make an exception for something this overwhelming.

"Ugh," Aziraphale says, as they sit on the couch in the bookshop; they're quite close together, because Crowley's been showing him how to change settings on the smartphone Crowley insisted he buy.

"Hmm?" Crowley says.

"It's nothing," Aziraphale tells him.

"It's probably not nothing," Crowley says.

"I'm going to get rid of this blasted vagina," Aziraphale says.

"That's your prerogative," Crowley says, though it's deeply disappointing.

"I can't handle being soaked," Aziraphale says, and Crowley digs his fingernails into his own thigh. "I just wish I didn't feel so sexually aroused when I'm around the one person I actually like."

Crowley can see the moment Aziraphale's brain catches up to his mouth, leaving Aziraphale gawping at his own words. Crowley sits extremely still, like if he just does it well enough, Aziraphale will think he's just a handsome statue and move on.

"That was crude of me," Aziraphale says. 

"Crude?" Crowley says, bewildered.

"You shouldn't have to deal with my base urges," Aziraphale says. 

"Base urges?" Crowley says, even more bewildered. 

"They'll pass," Aziraphale assures him. "We just have such a good time together, I would never dream of demanding that you-"

"I want to eat you out for a month and a half," Crowley says. 

"Oh," Aziraphale says, looking genuinely startled.

Crowley could have led into that more gracefully, but it's done now. "If you'd like to demand anything from me, I'd be happy to entertain it," he says.

"I couldn't possibly," Aziraphale says.

"It's no trouble at all," Crowley says. "Really, it would be my pleasure."

"I've never, you know, lost myself to passion or anything," Aziraphale says. "I understand that it's different for demons."

"Demons, right," Crowley says sagely, covering for the fact that it's actually "people who desperately want their best friends but didn't realize how much until, comparatively, very recently," because he'd be happy to lose himself entirely right about now.

"I don't want to inconvenience anyone just because I'm," Aziraphale says. "Well, you know."

"Why would you possibly think this would be an inconvenience?" Crowley says, trying not to let his annoyance show. "I'm offering. I'm ready to go. I've been ready to go."

"Really, if I just ignore it it will go away, and we can have a perfectly pleasant evening," Aziraphale says, with a brightness that is entirely forced. "Wouldn't that be nice? We could have a glass of port, perhaps. I have a lovely-"

"Stop that," Crowley snaps.

"Will you let this go?" Aziraphale says, exasperated. "Look, I'm very sorry and I'm quite embarrassed that I even brought any of it up. I'm not going to tempt you any further. Let's put the matter behind us."

"I don't want you to be _sorry_," Crowley says. "The only person here who thinks you did anything wrong is you, and I won't be party to it. This isn't about anybody tempting anybody else anymore."

"Then what is it about?" Aziraphale says.

"From where I am?" Crowley says. "It's mostly about how you want me and I want you, and about how it is fucking ridiculous not to act on that."

"I just don't know," Aziraphale says, looking deeply torn. "I really shouldn't. It's just not done."

"Angel, I need you to look deeply into yourself and tell me right now," Crowley says. "Do you not want sex, or is this Heaven talking? I would die before I'd force you, but if you want it, I'll give it to you, here and now."

Aziraphale swallows, and Crowley can see his resolve cracking; he thought he might feel triumphant, making an angel do something dirty, but he mostly just feels greedy and wired. "Perhaps we could try kissing while I decide."

Crowley strikes at last, tackling Aziraphale onto the couch. He's been looking at that mouth, that precious, beloved mouth, for eons, and he dives in, kissing him hard. Aziraphale makes a surprised sound, but his fingers come to grip the back of Crowley's head. Aziraphale has definitely not done this before, but as in all things, he is a quick study. It's a little messy at first, but it improves greatly; Crowley knows they were meant to do this, that it has all been leading to this point. He puts a hand on Aziraphale's hip and lets it drag across Aziraphale's body, headed for the spot between his legs that Crowley has been thinking far too much about.

Aziraphale catches his hand, breaking away from his mouth. "I need you to stop for a moment," Aziraphale says, sounding breathless. "I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"Okay," Crowley says, also breathless, and it's only with a Herculean effort that he doesn't ask how long a moment is.

"I've never doing something like this before," Aziraphale says. "Is it supposed to be making me this dizzy?"

"Dizzy like vertigo or dizzy in a figurative kind of way?" Crowley says, because the distinction is important. He wants Aziraphale to be overwhelmed with lust, not concussed.

"The latter, I think," Aziraphale says. "Forgive me, my dear. I wasn't expecting any of this."

Crowley has no end of things to say about that, but they all kind of trip over each other when he opens his mouth, so he just says, "Nmph." He takes a breath. "I don't see what's surprising about us being good for each other. That's our whole deal now."

"I was told I wouldn't like it," Aziraphale says, like that's enough. "For millennia, all I heard was that angels don't have sex, because sex is frivolous and disgusting. No one said angels could like it."

"You were told you wouldn't like food or liquor," Crowley says, and it's taking all his might not to jump back in. "They were wrong about that too, now weren't they?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, and the fight goes out of Crowley all at once at the gentle rebuke in his tone. "Angels were not made to question things. Angels are instruments of righteousness, and righteousness is unflinching and entirely sure. I've heard that since my creation. Some of that conditioning stuck, and some of it very much did not." Aziraphale shrugs, and it breaks Crowley's heart. "I suppose the part about sexual pleasure did."

"Sorry, angel," Crowley says, letting him up. Maybe if it just stops here, he won't have torpedoed his friendship with the one person who matters just because his thirst outran his compassion.

"Don't go," Aziraphale says, putting a hand on Crowley's shoulder and pulling him gently back down. "It's just surprising."

"I'll stop if you want," Crowley says.

"Don't stop," Aziraphale says, and he cups a hand around the back of Crowley's neck. "But perhaps you might calm down a little."

Crowley wants to say no. His pulse is pounding, and he feels like he might jump out of his skin if he isn't allowed to break loose. "I will," he says, despite himself. "What if I just kiss you for a while, all over? Let you get a feel for it."

"You'd like that?" Aziraphale says skeptically.

"Your body is beautiful, angel," Crowley says, a thing that is obvious to everyone but Aziraphale- everyone who matters, anyway. "I want to do extraordinary things to it. If you don't like it I'll stop."

"I'm willing to try," Aziraphale says, laying back and pulling Crowley to him. Crowley pushes his face into Aziraphale's neck, just breathing him in for a moment. His fingers work on Aziraphale's bowtie, and Aziraphale lifts his chin, giving him room to do it. With it loose, Crowley can undo the first few buttons of Aziraphale's shirt, baring just a sliver of his pale chest. It's what he's got to work with, so he works with it; he noses the shirt out of the way so that he can kiss along Aziraphale's collar bone, following the ridge of it to the hollow of his throat. He kisses upward just a bit, so that he can lay a kiss on Aziraphale's Adam's apple.

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "That's very nice, actually."

Crowley doesn't say anything, because talking has definitely not been to his benefit so far tonight. Instead, he kisses down to Aziraphale's shoulder, daring to bite just a little, really more of a nip than anything else. It still makes Aziraphale jump, so Crowley does it again, a little harder, before moving down. There's a V of chest exposed, and Crowley kisses his way down it, until he hits the bottom of it, nowhere else to go.

Aziraphale reaches for his own waistcoat, undoing the buttons with practiced motions and letting it fall open. Crowley barely lets him finish before doing the shirt buttons next, so he can push the whole thing back, leaving Aziraphale looking like an unwrapped present.

"You don't know what you do to me, angel," Crowley murmurs. He flicks his tongue over one of Aziraphale's nipples; Aziraphale gasps, so he does it again on the other side. "You're so gorgeous." He's got his teeth out now, nibbling and kissing a long, slow line down Aziraphale's middle. There's the lightest spattering of soft blond hair extending over the slight curve of Aziraphale's belly and disappearing into his trousers. Crowley traces it with his tongue, wanting more.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says, in a voice that might be the slightest bit awed.

"Do you like it?" Crowley asks.

"To a surprising degree," Aziraphale says.

"Tell me how you need it," Crowley says. "I'll do anything you want."

"Would you really-" Aziraphale says, looking bashful. "You know, with your mouth."

"I'll do it with any part of my anatomy," Crowley says.

Aziraphale reaches in between them; his hands are shaking, but he opens his fly with decisive movements. Crowley doesn't dare question it, just gets Aziraphale's shoes off and out of the way so that they can rid themselves of Aziraphale's pants and trousers.

And then Aziraphale is lying there before him, and his cunt looks exactly like it did the many, many times Crowley pictured it. His folds are glistening just so when the light hits the moisture on them, and Crowley regrets that he's never been any good at painting, leaving him unable to immortalize it.

"Is it alright?" Aziraphale says, sounding a touch worried, and Crowley realizes he hasn't moved in God knows how long.

"Fuck," is all Crowley manages to say for himself, as he slides off the couch to kneel in front of Aziraphale. Aziraphale lets out a shocked gasp when Crowley licks him, bottom to top. He's so wet, all but dripping, and Crowley dives in to taste it, wanting to submerge himself. He tastes amazing, astounding; Crowley doesn't bother trying to put it into words, not when what matters is the sensation.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighs. "Oh, oh please."

"Everything you want, angel," Crowley says, pulling back only long enough to say it before flicking his tongue over Aziraphale's clit. The noise Aziraphale makes is intoxicating, and Crowley can't imagine anything but giving him more. He needs this maybe more than Aziraphale does, and he won't stop until Aziraphale shakes into pieces.

He sucks Aziraphale's clit into his mouth, and Aziraphale fists his hand in Crowley's hair, crying out. It only makes Crowley work harder; eventually he's going to take his time, bring Aziraphale off slowly, tease and torment him until he begs, but he can't bear it now. He traces his fingers over Aziraphale's slit, fingertips dipping inside of him, letting Aziraphale get accustomed to the touch before he pushes in gently with one finger, where Aziraphale has never let anyone else go. The sheer tightness of it makes him moan against Aziraphale's skin, overtaken by it. He rocks his hand gently, deeper and a little deeper still, until he can hook his finger up to find the right spot.

Aziraphale bucks right off the couch, gasping. "Yes," he pants, almost incoherent. "Yes, Crowley, please, _more_-"

Crowley's not going to stop, and he doesn't. He moves his hand faster, his tongue working against Aziraphale's clit; he wants this so badly that he can't begin to articulate it, needs to feel Aziraphale come more than anything he's ever needed before. The rest of the world is nothing, immaterial, non-existent. There is only the two of them, and Crowley could keep his face buried in Aziraphale until time stops.

Aziraphale lets out a gasp that sounds like a sob, and Crowley knows he's close. All he needs is a little more, just a little farther and he can feel Aziraphale come apart. "Crowley," Aziraphale says urgently, just once, and Crowley knows he's coming, his body squeezing Crowley's finger, a rush of wetness on Crowley's hand. The only reason that Crowley doesn't moan is that his mouth is busy, trying to extend it as long as possible, holding on even as Aziraphale shakes, his knees drawing up, thighs trapping Crowley and keeping him right where he is.

When it finally comes to an end, Aziraphale goes boneless against the couch, draped across it in a way more suited to Crowley than himself. Crowley sits back, licking his lips and feeling so deeply satisfied, in a way he hasn't felt in a long time.

"Come here," Aziraphale says softly, and Crowley goes; the couch is suddenly big enough for both of them to lie on, and Crowley slots himself in next to his angel. Aziraphale puts a hand on his cheek, kissing him gently.

"Would it be alright if I finished you off?" Aziraphale asks, and he reaches out tentatively, running his hand over the ridge of Crowley's cock, where it distends his clothing.

"That would be more than alright," Crowley says, rapidly unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down; he's so hard that it's painful, and any skill or lack thereof on Aziraphale's part is going to be complete immaterial. Aziraphale isn't skittish about it, wrapping his hand around Crowley's cock and stroking it quickly. Crowley doesn't even really register whether he's doing a good job, because he can't stop pushing into it, fucking Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale surges forward, kissing him hard, and Crowley loses it, shooting all over Aziraphale's stomach, marking him up.

Crowley melts into the couch, and they're both left lying there, panting, a satisfied heap. "I didn't expect it to be like _that_," Aziraphale says.

"I'm not surprised," Crowley says, and now he does feel a little triumphant. "You got lied to for six thousand years."

"It's good I waited," Aziraphale says. "My view of the people who told me that is considerably more dim than it was previously."

Crowley thinks of how it might have been before, leaving Aziraphale feeling guilty and betrayed, and it breaks his heart a little, not that he'd admit he has a heart to break. "Well, we'll just have to try everything just to spite them," Crowley says.

"That's not why I think we should try everything," Aziraphale says. He strokes Crowley's hair. "Thank you. I needed the push."

Crowley takes his hand, kissing the back of it. "You never needed a push. You only ever needed someone to point you in the right direction."

"Is that what you think you've been doing all this time?" Aziraphale says, smiling.

"I am a wise counselor," Crowley says solemnly, and Aziraphale laughs.

"Then tell me what to do next, oh sage," Aziraphale says.

"Any number of things," Crowley says, his hand creeping down Aziraphale's stomach, and Aziraphale doesn't stop him this time. "But perhaps I'd better show you instead."


End file.
